


We'll Get Better

by HappyEight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M, Mute Sam Winchester, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyEight/pseuds/HappyEight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The empty hole where his Grace use to be aches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Get Better

“Why do you keep coming here Sam?” Castiel asks bluntly. Sam looks a lot like a lost puppy standing in the doorway to his room.

Sam shrugs. Castiel wonders if he would say anything if he could still talk. He turns his head away, ignoring Sam in favor of watching the light mist coming down over the garden outside his window. He doesn’t notice when Sam finally leaves.

 

There’s nothing wrong with Castiel as far as the doctors are concerned. He holds his tongue when they tell him things will get better as long as he keeps thinking positively and works on getting his life back to where it was before he was admitted. The empty hole where his Grace use to be aches.

 

He’s not surprised when they tell him he’s going to be discharged at the end of the week. He is surprised though when Sam shows up, the Impala’s keys fluttering through fingers he can’t keep still. He gives Castiel a smile that Castiel does not return. Sam’s smile falters and fades.

He gets in the Impala without any protest. He has nowhere else to go.

 

Sam has moved into a small house, two bedrooms with a small unkempt backyard and a kitchen that is barely big enough for two people. Sam points him towards one of the rooms with an encouraging look.

The bed is much more comfortable than the one at the hospital, something that Castiel can appreciate now that he has to sleep at some point. His window looks out into the backyard, mostly dirt and scraggly grass. There’s a fruit tree just beginning to bloom. It bother Castiel that doesn’t know what kind of tree it is. He closes the curtain and doesn’t open them.

 

During the day Castiel is alone. He doesn’t know where Sam goes, Sam doesn’t tell him and he doesn’t make an effort to ask. There’s a couch and a television in the front room. Castiel spends most of his time flicking through channels. Most things fill him with irritation and revulsion. Humans are petty and stupid. Usually he stops on the space channel, video feeds of the moon or satellites somehow comforting in a way he can’t put his finger on. A memory of standing on the moon and watching the blue planet slowly turn before him sends a sharp ache of loss through him. He turns off the television and returns to his room, falling into his bed to sleep.

 

A hand on his shoulder wakes him up. He’s confused, waking up still something that he hasn’t gotten a hold of. Sam’s looking at him, brow scrunched and lips parted like he wants to say something. The hand on his shoulder squeezes reassuringly and Castiel shakes it off sliding out of bed away from Sam. His throat hurts from screaming in his sleep. Another thing that he hasn’t gotten use to. Dreams and nightmares.

He drinks water from a cup in the bathroom, his cup in the bathroom. Sam hovers in the doorway. He wants to do something to help. Castiel imagines that it must be killing him to be unable to voice his concerns. Sam  was always the one who liked using words.

Sam watches him as he walks slowly back to his room, a small yearning part of him wants to turn out and face Sam. He’s just trying to help. The edges of where his Grace was burned right out of him still hurt. The door to his room closes, clicking loudly in the quiet early hours of the morning and Castiel slips back into bed where he lays awake until he hears the front door open and close as Sam leaves. The sun shines through the crack in his curtains.

 

Time passes differently for humans. It moves in slow spurts followed by jumps that move so quickly that leave Castiel reeling wondering when the tree in the backyard changed from being covered in small pink flowers to bright red cherries.

He finds some in the fridge one morning. It’s ridiculous he knows, but for some reason their presence offends him. He drops them in the garbage and washes the bowl putting it away removing any evidence of the fruit.

There’s more in the fridge the next morning. He tosses those ones out too. Two days later there’s a note on top of them that says _“please don’t throw these away_ ”. He stops going in the fridge for a while.

 

Sam brings him home books. Most of them he doesn’t read, many of them he already has. Some of them he likes especially the ones that don’t have happy or sad endings.

 

The house is hot in the summer and Castiel is antsy. He wanders around the house, barefoot, in shorts and a t-shirt irritated at nothing in particular. He tries watching the television, but his legs twitch with pent up energy.

His skin doesn’t feel like it fits right and the house is too small. He doesn’t know where Sam is. He doesn’t want to know where Sam is. A wind blows through the branches of the cherry tree outside and he’s overcoming with longing. The sliding door creaks open, and he steps out, relief flooding through him as the wind tangles his hair. The dirt is warm beneath his feet and the dry dead grass pricks his feet.

Sam finds him outside a blanket thrown over the dead ground, shirtless, sunburnt and sleeping. He gently shakes Castiel awake, and when Castiel moves the air hisses in through his teeth as his pink skin pulls and stretches uncomfortably. He lets Sam help him up and guide him into the bathroom. Sam turns the water on, and the idea of taking a shower sends a flare of panic up until he realizes that the water is cool. Sam leaves him standing under the cool water, until he’s shivering and ready to fall asleep in exhaustion.

He tries lying in bed but his skin hurts and his head hurts. He’s too hot and shivering. There’s a knock on his door frame and Sam’s standing in the doorway holding a bottle of aloe lotion like a peace offering. 

The burn on his back is the worst and there’s no way for him to reach it. He grits his teeth in frustration. Sam takes a hesitant step forward hand raised halfway up  to reaching out, he stops and looks frustrated. Castiel’s chest clenches uncomfortably.

“I can’t reach my back.” His voice is thin and raspy from disuse.

Sam raises his hand up with slightly more confidence and Castiel hands the bottle over. It’s cold and sends a shiver down his spine as Sam rubs the lotion across his over sensitive skin with too warm hands.

The bottle snaps shut and Sam sets it down on the table next to Castiel’s bed.

“Thanks,” He whispers, and Sam gives him a small smile and nod before disappearing out of the room.

Castle sleeps fitfully during the night, and dreams of the sun, hanging too low and too heavy above his head. He can’t get away. He doesn’t think he wants to.

 

The cherry tree is losing leaves. Castiel has been careful not to stay outside too long in the sun again. Sunblock appeared on the bathroom counter but he doesn’t want to press his luck, one sunburn is enough for a lifetime. He opens the slider though, and leaves the screen open, letting the breeze flow through the house unbound scattering leaves on the carpet.

He likes when the wind is strong enough to blow things around in the living room, ruffling the pages of paperback books and making the blinds clatter in their holder.

 

There are apples on the counter, a myriad of colours swirl on their skin. Red, orange, yellow, a hint of green. Castiel take one and rolls the pleasant weight of it between his hands. He bites into it and the crisp crunch it makes as his teeth sink through the skin delights him. He doesn’t like the rough fruit surrounding the seeds, it feels wrong and harsh against his tongue.

Sam keeps bringing home more apples.

 

Fall is here, and sweaters have appeared in Castiels wardrobe. He can’t leave the sliding door open anymore unless he wants to deal with a runny nose and dry chapped lips.

He goes outside, standing in the front yard and looks up and down the street. Leaves blow in tiny swirls and gusts, and the smell of fall is heavy in the air. It lightens his chest, makes him feel giddy. For a while he forgets about the ache in a place he cannot reach. His nose starts running. He goes inside piling blankets up on the couch and looks at a book of rainforest birds that Sam brought him home.

 

The smell of apples and cinnamon draw him into the kitchen. Sam is standing in front of the stove, with an apron on, stirring a wooden spoon slowly and lazily through a pot. His eyes light up when he sees Castiel and he nods to a piece of paper sitting on the counter. It’s a printed off recipe for Apple Cider. Sam raises a cup and tilts his head to the side questioningly.

The cider has the same crisp taste of apples but somehow it’s a million times better. It’s warm and sweet, cinnamon and juicy apple flavor that blankets his mouth in a wave of heavenly delight. He hums in contentment a shiver follows the line of his spin and makes his scalp tingle. It settles in his stomach making him feel warm and sleepy.

Sam’s sitting on the couch and he doesn’t even realize he’s sitting on the couch until he’s finished the last dregs of his mug and is wistfully remember how it tasted. Sam’s dozed off his own empty mug loosely held in his fingers. The television murmurs quietly in the background as he takes the mugs, filling them with water in the sink to soak.

He stands over Sam, contemplating.

“Sam,” He whispers, the sound of his voice makes him feel uncomfortable. He touches his hand to Sam’s knee gently pushing it. Sam’s eyes open lazily, like he knows where he is and doesn’t want to get up. He looks around in confusion for his mug after a moment.

“Sink,” Castiel tells him, and Sam nods stretching out his legs on the couch with a deep sigh.

“Thank you, Sam,”  He murmurs and Sam looks at him in surprise before smiling and nodding at him. Sam stands up and squeezes Castiel’s shoulder as he goes by. It feels nice.

 

Castiel does not know how he feels about winter. His nose runs worse than ever, and he’s cold unless he’s wearing multiple layers and socks. The house doesn’t have a good heating system and there are always red spots on his face from the chill.

Winter is beautiful. The world outside the house sparkles. The cherry tree is bare, fruit and leaves alike gone. There is white caught in the v’s of it’s branches like tiny piles of frosting. The snow covers the dirty and grass in the background. Castiel trudges through it, delighting in destroying the perfection. He feels a pang of bitterness when he’s done and returns inside, changing into dry cloths and stealing one of Sam’s larger sweaters.

 

A noise wakes him up in the middle of the night. At first he thinks he imagined it, but then he hears another. Curiosity pulls him out of bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It drops to the floor when he finds Sam in the bathroom hunched over the toilet panting and breathing hard. His face is wet. He’s only dry heaving, not throwing up. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face is pale under the tear marks.

Cautiously he places a hand on Sam’s back in an attempt of comfort. Sam leans back just slightly. Sam’s back is warm ,Sam is always warm, and Castiel is overly conscious of how cold his fingers are pressed against the t-shirt. Sam doesn’t seem to care though.

He helps Sam back to his room and Sam falls into bed. When Castiel tries to leave, Sam grabs his shirt hem and looks at him pleadingly. Castiel hesitates and then makes up his mind.

“I’ll be back,” He promises and returns with another blanket and pillow. Sam budges over until his back is against the wall and Castiel lays in bed with him. He doesn’t fall asleep. Sam’s breath picks up in his sleep and Castiel lays his hand on Sam’s shoulder rubbing his thumb in small circles until Sam settles.

In the morning he's half awake when Sam tries to carefully climb over him. He grumbles at the exposure to the cold air and slides over to steal Sam’s spot which is definitely warmer than his own. Sam huffs out a breath of laughter and Castiel drifts off to sleep to the sounds of Sam getting ready for his day.

 

 

After three weeks of winter Castiel decides that he’s sick of looking at bare branches and his feet are almost constantly numb now from wrecking the fallen snow in the back yard. More often than not he slides into Sam’s bed. Either too cold in his own room, or the pressing need to check on Sam to make sure that he’s not silently caught in the thrall of a nightmare. Sometimes Sam is fine, other times, Castiel lowers himself next to Sam reaching his arm across the bed to steady Sam as much as he can.

 

Rain melts away the snow. It’s slushy outside and Castiel likes this even less than the snow. It gets warmer but everything always seems to be heavy with dampness. It makes him sleepy and at the same time he buzzes with energy. It makes him feel like he’s going to go stir crazy but unable to do anything about it.

Sam’s nightmares have died down, for which Castiel is glad. His own are sporadic and unsettling in a way that he can’t pin down. He doesn’t remember them. Not in detail anyways. They leave him feeling tired and he gets hints of them during the days after that fill the world with a sense of surrealism that he can’t shake.         

There are buds on the cherry tree.

 

 

           

 

            


End file.
